


Seeing Red, Seeing You

by seohoverse



Category: ONEUS (Band)
Genre: ...I don’t think, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Angst, Blood and Violence, Brief Appearance of Young Jo, First Love, Friends to Enemies, It’s not that bad I promise, M/M, Mentions of other ONEUS members, just me projecting my twisted emotions through seodo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-12
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:01:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26426779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seohoverse/pseuds/seohoverse
Summary: His eyes roam over the terrain, over the crumpling bodies. And there he is, standing by the forest of trees, black combat boots dirtied with mud, and his fangs stained with fresh blood. He knew he’d come because he always did, never declined if it meant he’d see Geonhak. If possible, Geonhak’s hand tightens more around his steel spear as he locks eyes with Seoho.
Relationships: Kim Geonhak | Leedo/Lee Seoho
Comments: 12
Kudos: 48





	Seeing Red, Seeing You

**Author's Note:**

> I'M SO SORRY FOR WRITING THIS! I've never written something like this before so please go easy on me, and I swear I'll never write something like this again :'') Writing this was very hypocritical of me but that's okay. I apologize for any damage I may cause, so for damage control, I will be supplying tissues for everyone who needs it.
> 
> I was actually inspired to write this because I came across this heartwrenching and beautiful fanart of seodo on Twitter which, sadly, I cannot find anymore. But it compelled me to write this monster so here we are :)
> 
> Once again, I humbly apologize for this fic :'')

Geonhak sees red. On his hands, his clothes, the grass. It is a shame the day started off so beautifully; they hadn’t enjoyed it with the tearing agony that often comes with awaiting their enemies. 

Chances of never living to see another beautiful day are high.

This morning, he woke up with the knowledge that the day would be bloody, and bloody it is. The surface area of the battlefield is scattered with bleeding bodies and blood-stained grass; the air wafts with the musky smell of flaming arrows that are sent soaring, driving home into the chests of their enemies, and war cries ring in his ears. Geonhak winces as he presses a hand to his open wound from where he’d been punctured with an arrow, feeling hot blood bleed through his white shirt. To his luck, it hadn’t been lit.

His eyes roam over the terrain, over the crumpling bodies. And there he is, standing by the forest of trees, black combat boots dirtied with mud, and his fangs stained with fresh blood. He knew he’d come because he always did, never declined if it meant he’d see Geonhak. If possible, Geonhak’s hand tightens more around his steel spear as he locks eyes with Seoho.

There was a time in life when Seoho would wear his signature sweet smile, that same warm smile paired with his soft, twinkly eyes. There had been a time when Geonhak would get to hear his giggles while they hid in the castle’s gardens to escape from their duties. Geonhak had often described the melodic sound as the autumn breeze—the perfect combination of hot and cold. Cold in the way it sent shivers down Geonhak’s spine and tickled up his skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake. But warm in the way it would decrease Geonhak to nothing but a puddle of goo. 

He doesn’t wear that smile anymore, only holds a look of crushed hope and remorse in his gaze. Even after a decade, the look in his eyes has remained the same. The same pleading gaze that he gave Geonhak that day all those years ago when he begged Geonhak to understand him, to forgive him. His eyes hold the same longing as it always has, and once upon a time, those eyes had been the warmth that melted the frost in Geonhak’s heart.

It doesn’t have the same effect on him anymore. It only aids in stirring up the abhorrence he’s held in him for so long. The abhorrence he’s harboured ever since he was betrayed.

Betrayed by his own best friend.

Beautiful days where the sun is high in the sky, and the breeze is caressing and cool, are a bad omen, Geonhak learned, for it had also been a day like this, a warm, vibrant day when Young Jo had banished Seoho from their kingdom. 

Growing up with Seoho, Geonhak had a secret file where he kept every bit of his knowledge on Seoho stashed away. Taut, empty smiles that lacked any warmth had been for visitors of the castle, or their servants when they whisked Seoho away for meetings he didn’t wish to associate himself with. But then there were the smiles that were solely reserved for Geonhak—genuine, wide smiles that reached his ears and crinkled his eyes, placing his pearly fangs on display. When he was relaxed, content, he would initiate forms of physical contact, such as holding hands or resting his head on Geonhak’s shoulder.

Geonhak thought he knew everything—Seoho’s thoughts even when he believed he was illegible, his expressions, his actions based on his mood. However, he was struck with the realization that maybe he hadn’t known everything like he’d thought.

From then on, Geonhak has learned to be alert, on his feet whenever he awakes to the warm embrace of a flaming sun, to the sing-song of birds outside his window—because a bright day means trouble, the universe’s way of forewarning them of the events to come.

Seoho doesn’t approach him from where he’s half-hidden behind the tree, one hand on the coarse trunk. He’s waiting, Geonhak understands a while later. He’s waiting for Geonhak to take the first step, to make the first move. _Coward_ , Geonhak thinks to himself. Years of separation has done nothing to change Seoho, he sees. He has always been, and would probably always be a coward. 

As if he’s read Geonhak’s thoughts and knows exactly what he’s thinking, Seoho wears a crestfallen expression on his face, and Geonhak sees his lips part and his chest rise and fall in what must be a weighted sigh. But he still doesn’t advance, keeping himself rooted to the spot. He doesn’t even throw a glance at the fallen bodies that cover the expanse of the field—bodies of his past and present allies.

So Geonhak makes the first move for them, takes a step towards Seoho with his spear still in hand. Each step is agonizing, dragging on, and there is the faint squelch of wet grass freshly stained with blood that is heard from underneath his boots, but he doesn’t pay any mind to it. With each step, Seoho’s hand clenches tighter on the bark of the tree, seemingly bracing himself. The look in his eyes is uncertain, wavering, and Geonhak feels laughter stir in his chest. He really _is_ a coward, one that is prepared to flee and let victory escape through his fingers. 

But not Geonhak. He trained and prepared for this day. He came out that morning to finish either dead or alive. He is going to see the battle to the end, even if Seoho refuses to bare his fangs and fight him properly. To him, it is a victory in itself to see Seoho back off cowardly without even so much as a fight. 

Time halts when Geonhak is finally before Seoho, and his mind seems to begin drawing blanks. He makes the funny observation that over the years, he has grown taller, and he is now obligated to look down at Seoho. He remembers, years ago, when Seoho used to tease him for being the shorter one as children, claiming that he’d always be the taller one between them. It’s funny to think he’s outgrown Seoho, that he’s grown to be the bulkier of the two. 

Seoho’s style has changed, too. His once strawberry-red hair is now a vibrant orange, too vibrant for Geonhak’s taste. It’s parted in the middle to reveal his forehead, and Geonhak lets himself marvel at how it gives him a more mature look. As children, Seoho’s hair always fanned out across his forehead to hide it. His combat boots that come up just below his knees are pulled over tight black pants that he has tucked his white button-down into. Over his button-down is a black trench coat that ends just above his knees. Formal, as always.

He has always been captivating, stunning in a way that never failed to take Geonhak’s breath away. And Geonhak realizes, with piercing disdain, that that hasn’t changed. Even now, he feels crushed under the weight of the beauty of someone who had once captured his heart and wrung it in ways Geonhak never knew could be possible. Even now, he feels those past emotions overwhelm him, powerful enough to nearly bring him down on his knees and succumb to the one person he swore never to drop his pride before. 

But that alone is enough to have him stand taller, firmer in his stance. He doesn’t let his gaze waver, doesn’t let his mere emotions take a toll on him. Those feelings of love had once been his weakness, the only thing that could get to him, the anchor that dragged him down and kept him tied. 

Now, he can let those past emotions fuel his rage, fuel his hatred until he is completely engulfed in it. 

It is Seoho who breaks the silence between them, breaks it and lets it shatter around their feet like glass. “It’s been a while.” There is a certain edge in his voice that often comes with growth, and despite his voice sounding almost similar to when they were younger, it is the way he speaks that has changed. He is delicate in the way he speaks, careful in the way he words his phrase, walking over eggshells tenderly in fear of slipping up and making a mistake. Geonhak watches as Seoho’s lips tremble with the effort to pull on a gentle smile, but it’s only futile when Geonhak returns the soft look with a menacing glare and a set jaw. “How have you been?”

The words, although generally used for formal greetings between two individuals who have been apart for a long while, irk Geonhak and compel him to tighten the grip on his spear, his palm turning red under the pressure. How dare Seoho greet him so casually as if they were still friends, as if his betrayal hadn’t left their group in shambles? As if he hadn’t left _Geonhak_ in shambles?

Geonhak knows his expression has darkened when the wavering smile on Seoho’s face slips into one of deep sorrow. There is something about the expression that lightens the weight on Geonhak’s heart, even if only faintly. It’s pleasurable, seeing such a look on Seoho, and knowing a simple glare is all it takes to affect him. 

There is the loud clang of spears clashing behind Geonhak, and he doesn’t need to turn around to know Young Jo has bitten into the neck of an enemy when he hears a shrill cry of affliction. Another flaming arrow is sent flying, landing close to Seoho’s feet. Through the thick material of his boots, Geonhak can feel the heat of the flames that have just begun to soak into the grass. 

Seoho grows impatient at the lack of an answer from him, and he opens his mouth to say something else. “Geonhak—” Upon hearing his name leave Seoho’s mouth, Geonhak flinches, and he feels his pent-up rage boil until he is nearly neck-deep in it. 

“You don’t get to call me that,” Geonhak all but spits out. He hears his name every day: When Dongju comes into his room to bother him, when Hwanwoong or Keonhee seek him out to usher him into the dining room for dinners that Geonhak rarely ever attends, or when they are in the middle of training, and Young Jo singles him out because of a slip-up. But hearing his name roll off Seoho’s tongue after so long feels foreign, warm, and Geonhak hates it. He hates how easily Seoho can say his name even after a decade as if he’s been practicing every night. He hates how the call of his name catches him off guard, hates how it doesn’t give him enough time to stamp down the sudden tingling in his chest. 

What he hates most of all, though, is that Seoho thinks he still has a right to call him so leisurely, with his mellow voice coated with desperation—the same desperation as when he’d been on his knees, begging for Geonhak to understand him. 

“You have a lot of guts, willingly returning here and daring to show your face before us,” Geonhak says, and Seoho has that look on his face—that look that he always had when he had something he wanted to say, or something he wished to do, but was too fearful to do it. “Since you walked here on your own two feet, you should know that traitors are never shown any mercy.”

There is a pause as Seoho’s eyes fall on the spear in Geonhak’s hand, at the iron grip Geonhak has on it. The look with which Seoho regards him is resigned. “It really is too late to make amends, isn’t it?” 

At that, Geonhak feels his lips twitch into a smile of utter disbelief, and he lets out the laugh that had been bubbling in his chest for a while. He doubles over in laughter, keeping himself rooted upright with a hand on his knee and the other one using his spear as his anchor. Hearing him laugh, Seoho’s face crumbles even more, and he realizes it might’ve been the wrong thing to say at such a time. 

Geonhak isn’t so sure what is making him laugh. Maybe it’s Seoho’s question, and how he believes there’s even a slim chance of Geonhak ever forgiving him for conspiring against them and leaving their kingdom. _If you saw this kingdom for what is like I have, you would understand,_ Seoho had told him right before he’d been banished. Maybe he’s laughing because Seoho has asked such a question despite knowing the answer to it already. 

Or maybe, just maybe, he finds humour in his broken heart, in the dull ache that had settled in years ago. Maybe he finds humour in how he’s beginning to ache again, ache as his old wounds are slowly torn open with a knife in the form of Seoho’s words, his gaze, and his mere presence. 

He doesn’t know how long he stands there, laughing, but when he finally stops, tears have accumulated in the corners of his eyes. Reality settles in, and it’s no longer funny. There is nothing funny about their situation, the way the universe has set them up and continues to use them like puppets on a string for its personal entertainment. Instead, there is the unbearable twisting in his chest, one that is not from his arrow wound, and an ache that has him feeling nauseous. 

Seoho’s fingers twitch by his side as if he wishes to reach out and help Geonhak, but is holding himself back. Geonhak hates it. He hates the sting in his eyes, hates that his strength is seeping out of him, little by little, and is leaving only tears in its place. But he is before Seoho, and he’ll be damned if he lets Seoho see him cry because showing weakness, especially in front of someone who doesn’t deserve to see it, is unacceptable. 

But Geonhak can’t bring himself to stand up straighter, can’t bring himself to take up the firm stance he once had, and his grip on his steel spear has gone slack. Noticing this, noticing how Geonhak has entered a vulnerable state that leaves him unstable on his two feet, Seoho takes it as an opportunity to speak. His voice comes out shaky, much like the storm brewing up in Geonhak. “I know it’s been years, and showing my face here was my mistake. I didn’t realize how much I had hurt you, how much you must’ve hated me after I left.” _Hated?_ Geonhak sneers. _It wasn’t mere hate; I wanted to bring you down to your demise and inflict on you the same pain you inflicted on me._

“But believe me when I say I meant well,” Seoho continued, the hint of a plea in his tone. If Geonhak still had it in him, he would’ve laughed at the way Seoho is speaking, but he no longer feels bubbling laughter in his chest—only the ache that refuses to go away. Lee Seoho, prideful Lee Seoho, has never once spoken to him in such a voice ever since they were children. He used to be confident, never wavering or backing down when challenged, but there are no traces of the old Seoho. Before him is someone uncertain, wavering, desperate. And Geonhak realizes, albeit belatedly and distastefully, that Seoho is hurting like him. As much as his banishment wounded Geonhak, his banishment has also left him scarred. And deep within his loathing, Geonhak feels the slightest bit of pity for him—because he is pathetic, because this is what Seoho has brought upon himself. 

“Our mistake was being too forgiving, for forgiveness can be a grave curse that leads to our demise. Back then, I believed I was doing us a favour. We rule over humans, and yet they betrayed us. So I believed that maybe I could correct our mistake and set things straight.”

“By siding with the _enemy_?” Geonhak hisses. 

Seoho gulps, and he wrings his fingers together, taking a step back. It’s in fear, Geonhak observes—he’s stepping back in fear that Geonhak will hurt him. “Yeah, by siding with the enemy. And I realized that it was all my mistake. So I—” Another gulp, and his tone audibly drops until he sounds small. “I’ve come to seek closure.”

 _Closure._ The word claws through Geonhak, and his breathing hitches as newfound strength fills him. 

Geonhak sees red. Flickering before his eyes as it overtakes him, feeling it course through his veins and boil in him. White noise buzzes in his ear, shrill and unpleasant, blocking off the clang of swords and spears, blocking off the crucifying wails behind him. He doesn’t feel himself move, doesn’t realize he, once again, has a vice grip on his spear. But he feels Seoho flinch when he grabs onto his shoulder, and then the forest’s trees are whizzing past them, a blur of green. It’s when Seoho’s back connects with something solid that Geonhak snaps out of it, and it dawns on him that in his blinding rage, he has teleported them yards away from the battlefield, and he currently has Seoho pinned to a tree. 

Seoho gapes in utter shock at the collision of his back with the tree, uncaring of the sudden tearing burst of pain that rips through his arm and up his shoulder, down his back and uncaring of how the thick bark is digging into his spine. He pays no mind to Geonhak’s overgrown nails digging into the skin of his shoulder blade through the thin fabric of his shirt, nearly piercing through it. He also pays no mind to the tip of Geonhak’s spear that is only millimetres away from his face, almost grazing his cheek. 

Geonhak’s fangs itch in his mouth, his overbearing rage filling him _._ “You make your way back to our kingdom, and have the audacity to say you made a mistake and wish to be _forgiven_?” 

Seoho grimaces as his words are thrown back in his face, and his look of shock then melts into one of defeat, one with eyes that are turned down to accept the end of a battle before it has even begun. Geonhak hates it. It doesn’t do anything to cool the anger sizzling in him, only helps in aggravating him more. His hand itches to drive the spear into Seoho’s chest, maybe gauge out his eyes so he can no longer give him that saddened gaze. 

Seoho is supposed to fight back. He’s supposed to stand his ground and fight Geonhak. Maybe that would be enough to satisfy Geonhak’s inner turmoil, his churning emotions of rage that have been bottled up for years. But Seoho doesn’t do that. He succumbs to him, predetermining the results of their battle, gives him a look of vulnerability. A coward, Seoho is. He is nothing more than a simple coward, incapable of fighting him. 

“Stop giving me that goddamn look,” Geonhak hisses, though his voice comes out a little thin, nearly a plea. “Do you see me as weak? Is that why you do not wish to fight me? You think I’m still a child?”

Seoho can see that Geonhak is no longer a child. Clearly, with his own two eyes, he is aware that Geonhak has grown stronger, grown into someone who is no longer in need of protection. But he can’t bring himself to fight, can’t bring himself to feel anything besides the agonizing urge to claw his heart out of his chest for Geonhak. Because when he looks into Geonhak’s eyes, looks past the hatred and desire to kill, Seoho sees the boy he fell in love with all those years ago—the boy who’d laugh at all his silly jokes, the boy who’d play fight with him in the courtyard over the last slice of apple. He sees his first love because he is right here, before his eyes—his first love with the same facial features, the same eyes that now lack warmth, the same soft lips that are now pulled back into a sneer to bare his fangs. 

And Seoho can’t bring himself to say anything because he caused this; his pain reflects in Geonhak’s eyes, concealed behind the rage that he uses as a curtain to hide behind, and his years of sentencing himself to self-isolation as he fought a battle within himself mirror Geonhak’s. So, he doesn’t say anything because he has no right to, and he’s too ashamed to even face Geonhak, yet here he is, hoping that Geonhak can feel the apology that he is unable to express through his tied tongue and failing words. 

There is crumbling in Geonhak’s chest, his heart withering as he stares into Seoho’s eyes that no longer hold their innocent twinkle, but as quickly as the feeling comes, he stamps it down, throwing over it a veil of building rage. His hand tightens on Seoho’s shoulder, and he is well aware he is starting to leave marks on the otherwise untouched skin. “You are right; forgiveness is a curse, and therefore, I can never, and will never forgive you.” But he feels a forming tremble in his voice, one that symbolizes faults in oneself, in the armour he’s spent years building as a way of keeping himself on his feet. 

Seoho regards him with a distinguishable look in his eyes, one that Geonhak is all too familiar with. It is a look Seoho would give him as children when Geonhak’s inner turmoil became nearly unbearable, and he had difficulty telling right from wrong. Whenever Geonhak was unsure of how to hold himself upright, Seoho would give him that same gentle, reassuring look before pulling him into his arms and patting his back soothingly. That look brings back waves of nostalgia, and Geonhak feels himself weakening under Seoho, especially when he reaches out to run a pale, dainty hand over Geonhak’s cheekbone. “You say that, but why is it that I see uncertainty in your gaze—as if you are faltering?”

His touch is warm, something else that hasn’t changed about him over the years. Geonhak has half a mind to lean into the touch, to melt into it because it has always had that effect on him. Seoho has always affected him in a way that washed away his worries, his sorrow; he has a way of leaving Geonhak disarmed, bare and vulnerable, leaving him feeling too exposed, naked before someone he has only ever wanted to impress. 

The mortifying thought only aids Geonhak in grabbing ahold of Seoho’s wrist and prying his hand away from his face. The tree trunk digs uncomfortably into Seoho’s wrist when Geonhak pins it above his head, his eyes flaming. The spear inches closer to Seoho’s face, held right below the apple of his cheek. “Do you enjoy this, teasing me? Stop playing with me and fight properly unless you want me to kill you.”

“Then kill me,” Seoho says. For once, there is no doubtful tremor in his tone, only submission and a stern gaze—an illegible one. He has always been fully capable of masking his emotions when needed, like a switch he simply flicks on and off at will. Emotions and thoughts can easily be hidden behind a facade if one is skilled enough, and Seoho has mastered the tactic years ago. It is one that always drove Geonhak crazy, and it affects him all the same even now. 

Unlike Seoho, Geonhak has very much been easy to read, or that could’ve been the perks of Seoho once being his best friend. Seoho has always been able to read Geonhak through each expression he wore, through the fine lines on Geonhak’s forehead and the way his lips would shape to form certain words. Even after all these years, Seoho can still read Geonhak all the same, as if he’s never changed. Maybe he hasn’t. Maybe he has. 

Geonhak likes to think he has; he likes to believe he’s become someone unbreakable, a person whose heart has hardened to stone and cannot easily be swayed. And for years, he truly believed he had changed. So why is Seoho looking at him like that? Why is it that Seoho’s gaze holds the apparent answer to Geonhak’s question, an answer he only wishes to avoid? Seoho stares at him all the same, a gaze that hasn’t changed since they were young. He stares at him through thick lashes and unshed tears, he holds a gaze that’s always been reserved for the old Geonhak. As if he doesn’t see the different person Geonhak has become, Seoho continues to look at him as if he is looking through a see-through curtain—a curtain that displays the person Seoho wants to see. 

With his free hand, Seoho reaches out to his spear, a way of emphasizing his words. There is something patient and gentle in the way Seoho wraps his hand around the tip of Geonhak’s spear, but agonizingly persistent in the way he clenches it so tight that it begins to break through his skin, piercing through his palm and coating the tip with his blood. 

Seoho has never been the patient type, delving headfirst into whatever option he saw fit without considering the consequences. He’d complain that while he lacked patience, Geonhak was on the other end of the spectrum, having too _much_ patience. But when it came to him, Seoho never denied him of his wishes. He never will, and it is at least one thing that hasn’t changed about him throughout the years. He always indulged Geonhak, letting him take, and take, and take. He’d allow Geonhak to feast until he’s satisfied his own greed, even if he crumpled along with it. 

Seoho has never been patient, but years of separation and suffering, self-discipline, and heartbreak has changed him. It seems, he is no longer the simple-minded boy he had been back then, but he has grown, matured into someone unrecognizable, and simultaneously someone Geonhak will always recognize.

“Stop staring at me like that, it hurts.” The words slip out before Geonhak realizes what he’s just admitted, what he just blurted out amidst his incoherent thoughts, and his eyes go wide. The sorrowful clouds swarming in Seoho’s eyes dissipate in the slightest, and Geonhak bites down on his tongue to prevent a string of curses from tumbling out. 

_Oh, no, what have I done? God, how could I be so stupid?_ If Geonhak could turn back time, he would take back his words, but he can’t. He’s powerless, weak in the universe’s hands, and he’s dropped his protective armour. One slip-up and he’s let slip the mask he’s desperately been upholding for so long. He was doing so well, _so well,_ but he didn’t realize he’s already long since succumbed to Seoho. Since he first caught a glimpse of Seoho for the first time in years, he’s been slipping, weakening.

In the end, he has never truly been able to run too far from Seoho. Maybe, just maybe, he has simply been running in place, never moving, giving Seoho the leverage he needed to come closer and crawl right under his skin again. In the end, time has revealed that Seoho is not the one who is pathetic; it is Geonhak, for he is the true fool. He couldn’t resist, couldn’t keep his iron exterior, let himself be crushed because he can only do so much before the truth resurfaces—that Geonhak is susceptible to Seoho, that he can never truly keep his guard up when in his presence. 

Geonhak’s grip on Seoho’s wrist slackens, but Seoho doesn’t take the opportunity to pry himself free during Geonhak’s state of temporary vulnerability. He waits, remains still and silent, waits for Geonhak to make the first move, to give him the green light to pull away. The green light comes in the form of Geonhak taking a large step back, giving Seoho enough room to move off the tree, but he keeps a tight grip on his spear—lowers it from Seoho’s face down to his chest, aimed at his heart. 

“I will let you go on one condition,” Geonhak sighs. It’s heavy, and it’s the most gentle Seoho has seen him all night. His voice comes out rigorous, but his gaze is anything but. They bounce around everywhere, never landing on Seoho, continuously avoiding his eyes. “Leave.” It’s not a suggestion, but a demand. “Leave this place, and never return. The next time you show your face around here, we might not be so merciful. _I_ won’t be as merciful.” 

_He’s letting me go, just like that? Without even a proper fight?_ But then again, Geonhak has always been too softhearted for his own good. Even as kids, no matter how much Geonhak tried to prove he was angry, he would crack and forgive easily. He really hasn’t changed, not in the slightest. Geonhak’s self-restraint had never been the best during earlier days, and Seoho takes pride in being the one to teach him to control himself, even when nearly blinded by frustration and loathing.

Right now, though, Seoho wishes Geonhak didn’t hold back.

It would be easier for him, for both of them. Maybe then, Seoho would be freed from the prison that has caged him for years—the prison otherwise known as shame and remorse. 

“Geonhak—”

“I told you to _leave,_ ” Geonhak fumes, and for the first time that night, his eyes flash a crimson red, his last warning. For a good minute, the man before Seoho isn’t the man he claims to have become, but the young adolescent who was sensitive, soft, kindhearted. Bright red eyes have always been Geonhak’s way of displaying self-control in situations that would normally result in him losing his temper, situations he knew would have better outcomes if he stayed quiet and didn’t crumble under the pressure to blow up. 

And to top it off, Geonhak is showing this mercy to Seoho, someone who has hurt him gravely. Seoho doesn’t deserve it, he knows, he doesn’t deserve Geonhak’s kindness. Yet here he is, slipping out of death’s clutches with no more than a few scratches and bruises while his current allies are being torn to pieces on the battlefield. 

So Seoho clenches this opportunity in his hands, and he prepares to turn on his heels. But then, he hears something. Geonhak doesn’t pick up on it, too conflicted to even focus on his whereabouts, but Seoho does. It’s faint, but it echoes in his ear, loud and clear. The sound of sharpened nails scratching over the golden handle of a sword can be heard, along with the crunching of leaves underneath the light steps of someone who has had years of training to develop the skill of being stealthy. It comes from behind Geonhak, slow, dragged out, but as it gets louder, the speed of the steps increases.

Increases until a silhouette appears through the darkness of the eternal night. 

Vampires are creatures with no heartbeat, and therefore, cannot experience the same slowing and palpitating in their chest as humans normally do. But Seoho swears something in him stops, and it would’ve been his heartbeat if he had one. His heart lodges itself in his throat, and then the silhouette comes closer. He recognizes the robes of his present allies—a black silk cloak encrusted with silver and gold linings that swirl and stop in the center of the hood. His eyes fall on the sword in the figure’s hand, only to realize it isn’t a sword, but a stake—Seoho misinterpreted. 

Geonhak is still watching him, waiting for him to leave, walk out of his life, but Seoho finds himself moving forward instead. Everything stops then. All Seoho sees is Geonhak, his eyes that continue to glow red, the stake that is held high, and the figure that drags closer and closer. Seoho doesn’t think—he never does, never completely thinks things through—and then he’s moving. It doesn’t sink in—what he’s doing—until he’s standing in front of Geonhak.

Geonhak stumbles, losing his footing when Seoho shoves him, and then he stands there, watches silently, motionlessly, as blood coats the tip of the stake. He watches motionlessly as blood splatters onto the grass, over Seoho’s boots. Another patch of grass tainted with the effects of a horrific battle’s reality. Time slows, and then gradually comes to a halt. Geonhak wishes it would turn back instead. And just like that, the weight that he’s carried for years, the weight of his regrets, increases. 

It’s when Seoho’s knees give out that Geonhak is forcefully dragged back to reality. He moves before he thinks, catching Seoho before he hits the ground, and then he lays there. Seoho blinks once, then a second time, tense in Geonhak’s lap, and then blood spills from his mouth. Maybe Geonhak screams. He doesn’t know, can’t hear anything past the buzzing in his ears, the one that gives him a drowning sensation where he feels as if he’s been dunked underwater, meters under, too far from the surface to break free. From where he is, he can only watch as the sun beats down onto the rippling water’s surface, and he knows. He knows he’ll never see daylight again. 

It’s over.

A figure whizzes by and knocks into the side of the cloaked individual, too quick for Geonhak to be able to recognize them from his peripheral vision, but he does, anyway. The figure has a mat of brown hair, a steel armour with a golden sword. Geonhak recognizes the words carved onto the sword’s reflective surface: _Dead or Alive._ Only one of them would have a motto engraved into his sword.

There is another painstaking scream. Maybe it’s the enemy. Maybe it’s Geonhak. 

He wouldn’t know because Geonhak…

Geonhak sees red. For the third time that night, he sees red. Red staining Seoho’s fangs, staining the once-clean grass, bleeding through Seoho’s white shirt, right where his heart is, and red coating Geonhak’s hand. The sight of blood has never scared Geonhak. Growing up, he suffered many injuries inflicted through training, results of several clumsy slip-ups. At least once a week, blood stains Geonhak’s fangs after a feast and battle—battles provide a powering vision that makes him immune to the sight of blood.

But the blood that stains his hands now isn’t just anyone’s blood.

It’s his best friend’s.

Footsteps approach—the weighted steps of someone with heavy footwear—and then a pair of boots enter Geonhak’s line of vision. Young Jo stands there, waits motionlessly with his bloody sword in hand, but Geonhak doesn’t acknowledge him because he can’t see. He doesn’t see anything past the trembling body in his lap, and the expanding stain on his shirt from the blood that doesn’t stop. 

“What is—” Young Jo doesn’t finish his statement, but Geonhak knows what Young Jo is thinking—can hear his thoughts, his string of questions, even without reading his eyes, his gaze. _What is Seoho doing here? Why are you, of all people, helping him?_ Apart from Geonhak, Young Jo had been the one to feel most betrayed, the one who’d suffered the consequences of banishing a close friend, even if it was for the sake of their kingdom. He is the one who wordlessly watched Geonhak train individually, fueled by solely hostility towards someone he trusted, someone he loved. Someone who, despite refusing to admit it, he still loves. 

“Just… Just leave,” Geonhak mumbles. 

“Geonhak—”

“Leave!” As time passes, Geonhak is pulled farther down, entering the dark regions of the sea. He doesn’t hear the gradual disappearance of the footsteps, but he feels it in the way the grass shifts. And Geonhak is left alone. His strength, all his pent-up anger, evaporates, leaves his body, and he’s left with the raw emotions that have always been his strength and weakness, the anchor that would eventually drag him down to his inevitable demise. 

These raw emotions were once a blessing. He has no heartbeat, but he feels. The tingling in his fingertips, the hatching butterflies in his stomach—they were what would keep Geonhak on his feet, keep him going. Soon, those raw emotions that had once been a blessing became a curse, something that plagued him, tormented him for years.

And once again, as Geonhak stares down at Seoho’s bleeding form, he comes to the same conclusion that those emotions are still a curse. 

Seoho’s eyes flit up to him, and Geonhak freezes. It takes every fibre in his being not to break down, to start shaking at the blank stare. It’s not an illegible gaze. If it was, there would, at least, be the visible barriers that keep others out, one with a message scribbled on it loud and clear for people to see. But this stare is dead, void of any life and feeling. Seoho blinks up at him, then blinks again. 

And then he laughs, the laughter ripped out of his throat agonizingly in a way that leaves him wheezing, his chest burning around the stab wound until he grows numb. It’s a sound that Geonhak hasn’t heard in years, one of his favourite sounds, one of his only sources of pure joy. It would make his toes curl in his shoes, and he could never help but break out into a grin that he knew made him look ridiculous. The nostalgic sound doesn’t have the same effect on him anymore because it isn’t one of pure content. It aches, and it brings glistening tears to Seoho’s eyes. And yet, he still laughs.

“Hyung…” _What’s so funny?_ Geonhak wants to ask, but the rest of it catches in his throat when he spits out a word he hasn’t used in years. A decade is a long time, enough time to rid yourself of habits that you never thought you would part with. The word sits heavy on his tongue, foreign, and he is taken back to the days when that single word wouldn’t leave his mouth. _Hyung_ he would call as he ran into the courtyard where he would find Seoho waiting with his glasses perched on his nose, his face buried in another book from the castle library. Sometimes he would yell _hyung_ when he had good news to share, and other times, he would solemnly drag his legs into Seoho’s room, his pillow in his hand as a soft _hyung_ left his lips, waiting for Seoho to stir and make room for him on the bed.

Seoho understands what Geonhak wants to say next, though, because he always has. He always knew what Geonhak had on his mind, and that still hasn’t changed. “I just… find this funny. Who would’ve thought… that we would part ways like this?” 

_Part ways._ That’s right. They were meant to part ways. They were meant to walk out of one another’s lives for good, accept that fate wants to lead them down separate paths that will never align again. But this time, fate has done things differently, and it has cut Seoho’s path short.

But Seoho accepts this.

He has sinned, clearly, and each time, he paid the price. His first sin was betraying his kingdom, for which he was banished. Along with that came the painstaking realization that he scarred whom he loved most, pained him in a way he would never recover from, and for that, he suffered years of self-isolation as he questioned if he’d done the right thing. Surely, Seoho, being in control of his own mind and body, would be given the right to pick his battles. However, he could not because inner conflict is a battle that cannot be chosen nor discarded—it will continue to live on inside you. And this time, Seoho’s final grave sin is returning to the kingdom he had turned his back on, only to shamelessly beg for forgiveness. And now, he suffers the consequences because surely, asking for forgiveness from the one you hurt the most is a sin punishable by death. 

And Seoho—he is being punished reasonably.

Seoho’s gaze melts then, the stare that was void of any light brightening, and his now-chapped lips curl up into a smile. Geonhak hates it. It is only right for Seoho to despise him for he is the one who rendered him to this state. But when Seoho glances up at him, there are no traces of resentment, no abhorrence towards Geonhak who has brought him to this state. Instead, there are only apologies he could never say, words he never knew how to express. Despite the blood that continues to flow out of him and stain his shirt and coat, he has a twinkle in his eyes that Geonhak is all too familiar with. The twinkle is a painfully mirrored image of Geonhak’s gaze, a look he’s seen on himself millions of times, a look he never learned to rid himself of.

And Geonhak realizes. 

The realization hits him with the force of a thousand universes, with the aching pain of a thousand wounds, and instead, Geonhak feels as if he is the one who has been stabbed in the heart. In the end, it is he who is stupid, for he misunderstood. The evident signs had been waved before his eyes, and yet, he dismissed them. This whole time, he resented Seoho, and his rage blinded him, and he misinterpreted Seoho’s gaze. He only realizes now that beneath the gaze of sorrow and regret, there is a gaze that speaks three words Geonhak has always held on his tongue, words he never brought himself to say. Keeping the words to himself is his biggest regret. 

He doesn’t notice that his hands have begun to tremble until he feels Seoho place a bloody hand on his, squeezing it gently. It is meant to be reassuring, but it only succeeds in bringing tears to Geonhak’s eyes, and desperately, he wishes to be the one dying instead. Seoho’s lips part slowly, and Geonhak feels the words he’s about to say before he hears it. He wishes he hadn’t. “Geonhak… I love you.”

Geonhak breaks.

He feels his mouth part, feels hot tears burn his eyes and roll down his cheeks, but he doesn’t hear himself scream. He only feels the scratching and the raw feeling in his throat. And he wishes he never heard those words. He wishes, oh, how he wishes, to turn back time to when his days were filled with laugher, running in the courtyard and hiding behind the rose bushes in the garden; when he didn’t have blood on his hands and the weight of his bleeding best friend in his arms, back to when he never had to shoulder the burdening weight of piling guilt and words left unspoken on his heart. 

And Geonhak wonders when they became like this, like glass shards, shattered and only reflections, remnants of who they used to be.

He wonders if—had they known their times together would be limited—they’d make the most of it. But there was a time when they’d believed they were both invincible, that their bond was strong and could never be severed. There was a time when they’d been naive to think the universe, and fate were on their side, that life would always grant them open paths to walk down. 

Neither of them could have predicted that they were at the mercy of a ticking time bomb, numbered days with a time that ticked on without their knowledge, dragging on when they were apart, and racing when they were together. 

Maybe if Geonhak had known, he would’ve treasured each moment. He would’ve held onto the moments where they bathed in the white moonlight and pretended it was the open sunlight, sharing a blood pack as they talked about everything and nothing—because that was how their conversations had always been. Meaningless, and yet, so meaningful. He wouldn’t have picked petty fights with Seoho, would’ve confessed sooner. Maybe then, he wouldn’t have been left to pick up the pieces of a broken heart and hastily mend it into only a hollow form of what it had once been. 

But there is no use chasing after a time that has already passed, time that they’ve wasted and will never get back. The universe set them up, used them for their show, broke them both beyond repair, and they played straight into the hands of it, aided in their own destructions. The universe has been cruel to them, and they allowed it all to happen. Therefore, they have no one else to blame but themselves. Seoho has already spent years carrying the burden of his guilt, blaming himself over and over. And only now does Geonhak realize that Seoho has been carrying the guilt for the both of them so Geonhak wouldn’t have to.

Seoho squeezes Geonhak’s hand, but it’s weak, and his eyelashes flutter with each shallow breath. He has no strength to move except lay there and stare up into the night sky with sprinkles of stars scattered over it. It’s a pity that the night is so beautiful. They let such a lovely night slip through their fingers without treasuring it, destroying it with blood. When his eyes stray from the sky, he gazes up into another galaxy, one that glistens with tears and holds pain. And it’s all Seoho’s fault. Once again, it is his fault. 

“Hyung…” Geonhak says again because his words have left him. It’s so nice hearing the word again, Seoho thinks as his throat grows dry, and his tongue lays heavily, uselessly, in his mouth. He hadn’t realized how much he missed that word until now—until an ache settled in him. 

With the remaining strength in his fingertips, Seoho reaches up, tucks a loose strand of blond hair behind Geonhak’s ear, and curls his hand around the nape of his neck. Farther down Geonhak is pulled, and then he feels tears well up in his eyes and he knows—he’d be better off ripping his heart out to stop the pain. 

The kiss is gentle, everything and nothing like Geonhak had expected their first kiss to go. He’s always fantasized about how Seoho’s lips would feel against his, and he discovers that his lips are just as soft, just as warm, as he believed. Blood is staining his lips, Geonhak knows, but he can’t bring himself to pull away, not when he’s getting a taste of something he’s been craving for as long as he can remember. 

For a while, Geonhak forgets. He forgets that they’re in the middle of a war. He forgets that he is meant to hate his best friend. He forgets that he’s bleeding in his lap. All he can focus on is Seoho’s lips and the taste of them that brings back a wave of sentimentality. The kiss is so _Seoho,_ gentle like his caring heart that has always accepted Geonhak, has always looked after him, and warm like the times Seoho has always enveloped him in his embrace and comforted him, reminding him that even if the world comes to an end, there is still someone out there that he can lean on, seek a home in. 

In the end, Seoho has always been Geonhak’s home. And he is losing that, too. 

All too soon, Seoho is placing two hands on Geonhak’s chest and shoving him away, and Geonhak watches, petrified, as Seoho’s body convulses in his lap, and he lurches as more blood spills from his mouth and down the side of his face, down the front of his white button-down. Seoho’s ears buzz, and then all sound is lost. His vision fogs, but he catches the sight of Geonhak’s lips moving to frantically form the word _hyung_ again. Despite everything, he feels warm. So, so warm. Geonhak feels as Seoho’s grip on his hand slackens, and then it lays limp in his lap. Not even a flinch.

It is on such a lovely night that a vicious war has broken out, leaving no promises of a better tomorrow, a brighter future. And it is on such a lovely night that Geonhak’s world ends, crumbles to nothing around him.

And Geonhak is left cradling the dead body of his best friend, and his first love, in his arms.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> as always, comments and kudos are appreciated <3
> 
> also, if this story hurt you, you can always read my other story, "A Hint of Something Sweet," because it's purely fluff and might ease the pain in your heart :)


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